Falling is Like This
by PrincessJade
Summary: AU—Serena Hazelwood is twenty, an art student and an aspiring painter. It’s all sex, drugs, and expanding minds. But by chance, she meets successful business man, Darien Yaden, who lives the glamorous Manhattan high life. And everything that unfolds...
1. Stationary

Summary: AU—Serena Hazelwood is twenty, an art student and an aspiring painter. It's all sex, drugs, and expanding minds. But by chance, she meets successful business man, Darien Yaden, who lives the glamorous Manhattan high life. And everything that unfolds, takes them by surprise. **Warning: mature content with references to sex, drug use, and—in fact—all-around questionable morals**.

Author's Note: Ah, yes, what? You're starting a new story. And, oh my, you're tackling the businessman Darien? Mmm. Yes. Guilty as charged. I'm a painter, and I'm always painting on a number of canvases at once, it's just how I work. Thus I've found I need three stories to keep my creative self alive. And since I've just finished Insatiable, I need something new. I have Sea Glass, which is all about teamwork (which is proving challenging to align schedules); I have Glimpse, drabbles galore; and at last, to keep my sanity, I have this: my au, where I'm utterly free. Ah, so, enjoy? Hehe. Much love, PrincessJade.

**Falling is Like This**

_You give me that look that's like laughing_

_With liquid in your mouth_

_Like you're choosing between choking_

_And spitting it all out_

_Like you're trying to fight gravity_

_On a planet that insists_

_That love is like falling_

_And falling is like this_

_Feels like reckless driving when we're talking_

_It's fun while it lasts, and it's faster than walking_

_But no one's going to sympathize when we crash_

_They'll say "you hit what you head for, you get what you ask"_

_And we'll say we didn't know, we didn't even try_

_One minute there was road beneath us, the next just sky_

_I'm sorry I can't help you, I cannot keep you safe_

_I'm sorry I can't help myself, so don't look at me that way_

_We can't fight gravity on a planet that insists_

_That love is like falling_

_And falling is like this._

_Ani Difranco_

**01: Stationary**

Serena Hazelwood loved Brooklyn, especially during autumn, when everything was a mix of contradictions—its scent full of sweetness with an underlying tart, the air crisp but yielding. The leaves had just begun to change and it made the campus below shimmer and glow, all aflame in reds and yellows. To the right, Manhattan was stretched across an azure sky, the big brother to a darling sister—strong, loyal, and always there.

This was her favorite spot, on top the roof of Main Building, out the back door of the fifth floor painting studios. In fact, it was a favorite of most of her friends. Stoner heaven, as it was fondly called, was really only a small stretch of roof, speckled with sky-light windows, tucked high above Willoughby and Hall. It was a convenient gathering spot when studio work had to be done; a place to convene, hash out ideas, and then leave rejuvenated.

"You done for the day?" Graham Guerra exhaled, blue smoke swirling in the afternoon air, and passed the joint to her. His eyes were gray, the color of rainy days and sadness, and they drank her in. He was all legs and hollow bones—poetic beauty—the perfect manifestation of the man she'd always imagined loving: shaggy-haired, sharp-nosed, sensitively deep, a master of words.

And they both knew they were messy with paint, messy with drugs, and so messy with love—the perfect art school romance.

"Well do you have something better in mind?" She gave him a knowing smile. He gazed at her adoringly in return, for they both knew they were beauty defined when sprawled together across his sinking bed, their skin all muted gold's beneath the haze of marijuana and cigarettes.

"Always, come back with me. I've just put up the new Polaroids. Your tits look amazing in them. We can grab sushi."

"Sushi?" She shook her head, truly sorry. "I can't. I already promised Rei that I'd run around Manhattan with her tonight. We're rolling. I can't let her down."

"I understand." And he did, though he still felt cheated. He had been looking forward to an entire evening spent in her arms. A night full of spicy wasabi-kisses and smoke-filled sighs, with her sweet thighs wrapped around him—his hands, his face, his jerking hips. "Come tonight then, afterwards. You'll still be soaring. It'll be amazing. I promise."

"Okay. I will. It'll be late." She tossed the roach over the ledge and turned to give him an affectionate kiss, nibbling on his lip ring. "I'll wake you up."

"You know how." He smiled, though it never reached his eyes. Something felt off. She had begun to head inside, when he called out, suddenly, with a sense of foreboding, "I'll miss you, Serena. Be careful and come back to me."

"I always do."

---

"Betsy, you're a doll. Time?" Darien Yaden questioned, flashing a slow, seductive smile toward his secretary. She was an exotic brunette with a killer set of legs. And he knew he had hypothesized many times about how well she would be in bed. Perhaps, Darien thought wryly, it was time to test out some of those theories.

"Quarter to five." Betsy smiled, sooty lashes fluttering, as she handed over a stack of papers—sheets and sheets of numbers and figures. They both knew, perhaps Darien more visually so, of how her tailored suit outlined just the right curves, especially accenting her lush Latina backside. She leaned closer and dropped a hand to the bare skin—that his rolled up cuffs exposed—just below his elbow. Her eyes were sly, with just a hint of mint-green. "Why, Mr. Yaden! You do seem to be in a hurry this evening. May I ask what for?"

"Oh, Betsy, my darling! Hasn't Darien invited you?" Andrew Welling asked as he strolled in, blonde hair a disheveled mess. His olive green tie was already unknotted at his throat and he, like Darien, had his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned skin. He slung his jacket over the back of a chair and dropped a friendly arm around her shoulders. "We're having a big bash tonight in celebration of our new place. You should come."

"I would love to." She flashed—first Darien, then Andrew—a sweet smile as she began to leave, sensing she would not be privy to their following conversation. "Where and when?"

"We'll be in penthouse C at the corner of 43rd and 8th. "Andrew laughed and pinched her cheek in amusement. "Come around…eh…ten? Oh, and bring some friends—the more pretty faces the better."

"No problem." Betsy giggled and sauntered out of the room.

Once she was gone, Andrew sat on the edge of the desk and gave his best friend a knowing look.

"Man, I can't believe you haven't slept with her yet."

Darien shrugged. "I've been thinking about it."

"Well, you snooze, you lose—if you don't bang her tonight, I think I will."

"Be my guest. Though, I doubt any of us will be lacking for female companionship tonight." Darien pushed his paperwork aside and began to loosen his tie. He glanced at his cell phone. "It's five o'clock, which means--"

"It's time to talk business?"

Darien nodded and tossed Andrew a pen. "Shall we start with the alcohol or the drugs?"

"Ah…"

"Hmm…"

They glanced out the window, where Midtown lay sprawled out beneath them, then back to each other. In contemplation, they were silent for a long moment.

Then, simultaneously, they both broke into boyish grins and said, "Drugs."

---

It was eleven and Serena was soaring.

Everything was warm and bright and good.

With arms linked, the two girls wove in and out and around clusters of pedestrians, giggling to themselves all the while. They had gotten off the A train at 14th Street and then began to walk, like speed demons, up 8th Avenue. They had felt, the entire way, like two fish swimming up stream. Though now that they had hit 42nd and its glittering lights, the sidewalks were so crowded that they had to sometimes let go of each other in order to squeeze by.

"People must think we're nuts." Rei Michaels laughed and grabbed a hold of Serena's arm again, tugging her closer. They passed by the Port Authority and then crossed the street. Midway, Rei squealed and pointed excitedly, coming to a halt at the corner of 43rd. "Oh, look! Serena, look!"

Serena glanced down the street to see what Rei was gawking at and—once she saw the flashing lights—she knew. It was a tall, elegant building, with its top two floors lit up in an ever-changing array of colors; red, blue, purple, green. It was so gorgeous that, immediately, both girls knew they had to check it out.

"What do you think it is? We have to get in there!"

"Oh my god, I know. Maybe it's a club?" Serena wondered as they turned down 43rd and began to run. Her heart was pounding, an endless thump-thump-thump, in her chest by the time they came to stop in front of a 7-Eleven. They both frowned, spirits sinking. "How do we get up there?"

Rei grabbed her hand in determination. "I don't know. Let's ask."

Inside, everything was all creamy yellows and oranges. It smelt of floor cleaner and coffee grinds—Serena wrinkled her nose. It was too hot in here.

Rei walked up to the counter and smiled at the cashier. Her eyes were huge; an endless black ink-well lined in violet. "We were just wondering what's at the top of this building? Is it a club? A restaurant?"

The cashier shrugged and regretfully said he didn't know. Disappointed, they turned around to leave when a tall, shaggy-haired guy in the next line called out, "It's an apartment building."

"It is! Can we get in there?" Both girls exclaimed.

"I suppose I could take you."

He laughed, brown eyes bright with amusement, and paid for a pack of cigarettes. He met them at the door and then followed them outside. He lit up a Camel Light and eyed them both. He noticed they were young, dressed in their shimmering dresses and dainty flats—their skin flushed with some Friday night delight. They reminded him of gemstones—one a glistening ruby, the other an illuminating pearl—and though they were certainly different, they were both equally beautiful and, most importantly, equally fucked up. Exhaling, he extended his hand and gave them his most charming smile.

"A few friends of mine just moved into the penthouse and they're throwing a party to celebrate. You girls want to come?"

They both laughed, their glossy lips revealing pearly-white teeth. "Of course! We'd love to!"

"Excellent. My name's Chad. It's nice to meet you—"

"Rei."

"Serena."

"Pretty names." He offered an arm to Rei and then Serena. "Come on, the entrance is on the other side. The guys are not going to believe my luck."


	2. Potential

Author's Note:

Yay, look at that. Finally! Chapter two. I actually have this whole story laid out--it's just the actual fleshing out that takes some time. But like I said in Glimpse, summer's almost here. And I should have plenty of time to write. So please, be patient, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. And reviews are loved and encouraged. :) Much love. PrincessJade.

**Falling is Like This**

_02: Potential_

Both girls allowed Chad to lead them around the block and then through a spinning golden doorway. Inside, the lobby was all black marble and glass with a large, but elegant, wall fountain which loomed above the polite arrangement of egg-white couches and chairs.

Two well-dressed security men with caps were lounging behind the front desk. They grinned in acknowledgment, clearly amused. Security guards are men privy to many entrances and exits—so-called beginnings and ends—and it never ceased to be a source of entertainment.

"Good evening, Mr. Freihofer." Luis, the tallest one, greeted Chad, a wry smile on his lips, observing the wide-eyed stares of the two young women. And my, oh my, he thought, they were certainly young. He couldn't imagine them being much older than twenty. They were pretty little things, full of youth and mischief, dressed in their shimmering dresses and silver flats and Luis guessed that they either came from the Lower-East-Side or some part of Brooklyn, perhaps Williamsburg.

"Evening, Luis." Chad nodded in greeting and wrapped a lazy arm around each girl's shoulders. "These lovely ladies are with me."

"Of course, Sir," Luis waved an arm, ushering them toward the elevator. "Have a goodnight."

Once inside, Serena and Rei glanced at each other, after which they broke into simultaneous laughter.

"What's so funny?" Chad questioned, pressing the button which read PH. "Did I miss something?"

Rei laughed harder. "No, no. We're just weird. I don't know why, but we knew we were both thinking the exact same thing."

"Oh yeah? What was that?"

"We were wondering—well, more like scheming—how we can get our hands on hats like those."

"The security guards' caps? The blue and gold? Really?" He laughed, genuinely amused, as they reached the top floor. By the waist, he led both Rei and Serena toward Penthouse C and rang the bell. "Unbelievable. I think you two are going to make my night. Come on, let's get you some drinks. If you keep me laughing, I promise I'll get you two those very exact hats."

"Really? Awesome, you've got yourself a deal." They giggled, swaying on Chad's arms as the door opened, revealing a tall blonde.

"Chad! We were positive you were passed out in some gutter!" Andrew exclaimed, slurring his S's as he stepped aside to let them in. "And look! You brought girls! Well done, man. I'm Andrew and—fuck, I'm drunk."

"Now aren't you Captain Obvious," Chad rolled his eyes and punched Andrew in the shoulder. "This is Rei. And this—Serena."

"Beautiful. " Andrew grinned, dimples showing, and grabbed Serena's hand in a sloppy greeting. "Pleasure to meet you. Come in, come in. Beer? Gin? Tequila?"

"Beer's fine." Rei said as both men led them through the foyer to the kitchen, where they were handed a Stella, and then escorted into the living area. The floor was packed with dancing bodies, mostly Uptown waifs and dapper men with rolled up cuffs and dry-cleaned slacks.

Chad, heading toward the balcony for a cigarette, pulled Rei along with him, leaving Serena alone with Andrew. Though she didn't mind that much, because he was a good-looking guy, albeit a little too Abercrombie for her general taste.

"So, Serena? Right? Where you from?"

"Brooklyn. I'm going to school there."

"Oh, a college girl! I remember those days. What are you studying?"

"Art. I'm a painter."

"No shit! Really?"

"Really," Serena laughed at Andrew's astonishment.

"Did I tell you my brother runs a gallery in Soho? And I own one-third?" He nudged her with a sly smile, "Maybe I could hook you up…you know…if you're nice."

"I am nice!" She exclaimed, mock offended.

"We'll see about that. Besides, I don't even know if you're good or not. Are you good?"

"I don't know if I'm at liberty to say. We are talking about my technical skills in painting, aren't we?" She teased, playing her youthful card to the max.

Andrew laughed, stepping back. "Oh god, you're so innocent! You need to be corrupted. I think it's time you were drinking something a bit harder than that Stella. I'll go get you something. What do you want?"

"Uh…" She shrugged, knowing she shouldn't drink that much while rolling. "Whatever. I'm not too picky."

"Gin and tonic?"

"Sure. Sounds great." Serena smiled and waited until she saw that Andrew was half-way across the room before escaping to the balcony, hoping to find Rei. But instead, she found it all but deserted.

She actually preferred to be alone, when rolling, and reveled in the wonderful weather. It was a warm evening, even for the fall, with just a hint of a breeze. Above, the moon glowed across the Hudson in the distance; and below, Manhattan twinkled, spread out at her feet. She took a step closer to the metal rail, sipping her Stella, and sighed, clearly captivated.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" A voice called out from behind, causing her to jump in surprise.

"It is." She confirmed—voice steady, though her heart was pounding. She turned and found herself face-to-face with dark-haired man. He was languidly smoking a cigarette and when he stepped closer, the moonlight revealed chiseled features and cobalt eyes, he offered her a Camel Light. She took it, grateful that he seemed the polar opposite of the chatty Andrew.

Like Graham, she sensed he was a man of few words—a trait she instantly found appealing.

"Hiding?"

"Is it that obvious?" She lit up the cigarette, exhaling.

The man laughed, clearly delighted by her guilty look. "Only to me. I saw you with Andrew. I know how he gets when he's trashed. I guess you could call me his roommate."

"Oh! You both own this place?"

"Yeah, at least for the next year." He shrugged and then pointed to her beer. "Not much of a drinker?"

"Oh, no…well…you know, generally you don't mix uppers and downers." She concluded lamely, unsure of what exactly she should divulge. But he only laughed, flicking his cigarette over the rail.

"Seriously? What are you on?" He looked at her with bright eyes, clearly interested. "You don't look like the type. Why you look like you're barely eighteen."

"I'm on ecstasy…and shut up! I don't look that young! I'm almost twenty-one. "

"Ah, you're still a baby. But anyways, I've had a lot of fun times on E when I was younger. You must be feeling good." He nodded, eyeing her for a moment before offering his hand. "Darien."

"Serena."

"Serena. It's a pretty name. Oh—look—I think Andrew's looking for you. Do you want to be found?"

She glanced inside and saw a blonde head drunkenly searching the crowd. Looking up at Darien sheepishly, she said, "Not really."

Chuckling, he took hold of her hand. She was delighted to find his fingers long and smooth, easily enveloping her hand in his.

"Good. Guess I'm the winner tonight." He told her as he led her to the darkened corner of the balcony where a glass patio table and chairs were hidden. "I think I've got something more your speed anyways."

"Oh yeah?" Serena watched, surprised when he pulled out a credit card from his back pocket and cut two lines of cocaine right on the table. She laughed, delighted. "Oh yes, this is definitely more my speed. Fuck, I'm so glad I ran into you."

"Me too." He tugged her closer, his grin boyish, "Ladies first."

--

"How you feeling?" Darien asked, watching her carefully.

He was feeling damn good and hoped she was too. Even in the corner, engulfed in darkness, her shimmering skin and gauzy dress were still visible—as if she had magnetized the moon to her entire being.

What a remarkable creature this doe-eyed goddess was.

He would have to remember to thank Chad for discovering her. Though, if he knew Chad at all, Darien was pretty sure that he was already banging Serena's raven-haired friend somewhere inside. And, ideally, Darien hoped to soon be banging Serena out here, safely tucked away from the crowd.

"Amazing. Simply amazing." She sighed and allowed him to pull her onto his lap. "I'm all tingly."

"And sensitive?" He murmured against the fragile shell of her ear. He felt her answering shiver and grinned, spreading her legs with one hand. "You smell delicious. All hot and…oh, what's this?"

"You know exactly what that—mmm, yes." Serena encouraged, arching her back to throw an arm around his neck for more leverage, as he traced the inside of her thighs with a teasing finger. He could feel the heat of her and knew she wanted it—wanted him.

And he had known she was ready for him, even then, before he'd even slid her underwear to the side and immersed his fingers in her core.

"Oh god." She groaned—rocked and rolled and squirmed—in his lap, nails digging into the back of his neck. "I want…do you…oh…do you have?"

"Yes…here…pocket…fuck." Darien panted, gnawing her at her shoulder blade through the thin material of her dress. He lifted her by the hips, allowing her access to his pockets where she could find what they both were looking for.

At last, she found it and, ripping the foil with trembling fingers, she unbuttoned his slacks and rolled the condom down. She was still gripping him at the base when he dropped her down, fully-seated, with a groan. She hissed through clenched teeth and hooked her ankles around the legs of the chair for more support.

"Oh my god." She was shaking, thighs taut as bow-strings, as she let him guide her by the hipbones. "Harder."

"Harder?" He gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into her collarbone, and slammed her down. Fucking hell, she was amazing. "Like this?"

"Mmm…yes...don't stop." She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck, lifting herself in time with his downward thrusts. Yes. God, yes. She felt it coming, as if her whole being had wound itself into a knot at her center, and now, yes, now it was going to—

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes…Oh god, yes—"

At last, when her body erupted in spasms as her orgasm took hold, Darien yanked her arms loose and, pushing her forward, bent her over the table so he could properly fuck her. At this angle, she felt beyond exquisite, but it was actually her pleasure-numbed mewl that finally sent him over the edge.

--

"How old are you?" Serena asked after a long moment, cheek still pressed against the table, a blissed-out smile across her face.

"Twenty-seven. Why?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her up. She was laughing.

"Oh, I'm just curious. I—"

"Serena?" Rei's hesitant voice broke through the night air, breaking up the hazy orgasmic aftermath. "Serena? Are you out here?"

"Yes! Rei? I'm here!" Serena scrambled up and away from Darien, running out to meet a frowning Rei near the doorway. "Where were you?"

"With Chad…where were you? I've been looking all over for you." Rei flushed, grabbing onto Serena's hand. "Come on, let's go. It's almost four-thirty. We should head back. Wasn't Graham going—"

"Ladies."

Serena turned, already knowing who it was. Darien was smirking, hair and clothes still a disheveled mess. It appeared he had made no attempt to straighten up. Instead, she had a sinking feeling he wanted to look "just fucked." He winked at Rei first, then Serena.

"It was a pleasure. I hope you both had a good time."

They watched Darien in wide-eyed silence as he sauntered back inside, door closing behind him.

Rei turned with a knowing look and elbowed Serena in the ribcage, hissing fiercely, "Start talking. Now."

--

It was six by the time Serena slipped in beside Graham. She pressed a gentle hand against his back, curling against him in his sloping bed he called theirs for the past two years. On the robin's egg blue of his bedroom wall were the new Polaroid's of her body, waiting to be cut up and arranged by his loving hands.

"I love you." She said, pressing a tender kiss, hoping to be absolved, atop his boney shoulder.

"I love you." Was his sleepy reply, followed by a warm hand around her waist. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes."

"What did you do all night?"

"Oh, we met some Penthouse boys. They were having a party."

"Oh yeah? Were they cute?"

"No, not really."

"Interesting." He paused, turning to face her with his rainstorm eyes. "Rich though?"

"Disgustingly so." She wrinkled her nose and did her best to smile.

It must have been convincing enough because he chuckled, pulling her to his side. "If that's the case, you should keep them around."


	3. In Motion

Author's Note: Oh, look at me! Another chapter for my darlings. Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. Please read and review! It's motivation galore. :) Much love, PrincessJade.

**Falling is Like This**

_03: In Motion_

The Eli Welling Gallery was packed full this Thursday night and Serena was thrilled as she moved through the crowd. She saw many of her fellow peers, quite obvious in their bright graphic tees and paint splattered jeans when thrown against the more subdued colors of New York's art patrons. Most were couples in their fifties with tailored clothes and money to spare. And hopefully there would be some sales tonight, perhaps even a few commissions.

She was full of love, knowing Graham had worked hard for this, and stood proudly at his side. She knew he was nervous and saw the tension in the way he gripped his glass of wine. Dressed in skinny jeans and a yellow shirt, he looked very much the awkward up-and-coming artist.

"It's packed. Graham, you should be so proud. It looks wonderful in here." She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "I don't even mind that now all of Soho has seen every square inch of my body…in one way or another."

He looked at her, eyes tender, and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "I'm glad you're here. I wouldn't have been able to produce this body of work without you—my sweet golden girl."

"Oh, Graham, you can do anything—with or without me." Serena said, confident in his talent and his ability to succeed. "You are amazing."

"Graham! Look at this crowd—I can't believe the turn out." A blonde gentleman slapped a friendly hand to his back, gesturing to the crowd with his other. "I have a few people you should meet. I think they might buy. They're awfully interested."

"Really? That's awesome." Graham laughed, pulling Serena to his side. "Serena, this is Eli Welling. I owe the whole show to him. And Eli, my girlfriend—Serena."

"Pleasure to meet you," Eli greeted, shaking her hand. "You must be proud of him. Are you an artist as well?"

"I am—third year painter." She told Eli, finding something familiar about his eyes and the structure of his jaw. "And yes, I am very proud. "

"Next year, perhaps we can show your work." Eli offered, before spotting a silver-haired gentleman. "There's Mr. Sterling. Graham, come along. I want to introduce you."

"Okay," Graham agreed, handing Serena his wine. He kissed her quickly, squeezing her side. "I'll be back."

"Take your time. Don't worry, I'll be fine. Rei should be here soon anyway." She urged him away with a laugh. "Good luck."

--

What a small world, Darien Yaden mused, as he circled the gallery, eyes locked on the tiny blonde talking with Eli and a lanky man, whom he assumed was Graham Guerra.

Although she wasn't wearing a shimmering dress, like she had been three weeks ago, he knew he was not mistaken—it was Serena, his enchantress from the balcony. He had been wondering if he'd ever see her again and now—well—he had his answer.

She was just as beautiful as his drugged memory had recalled. Even now, in the casual grunge that was popular now-a-days, she was exquisite. Her top was purple, its collar purposively large so that it fell off one shoulder, exposing a delicate neckline. Large bangles sparkled at her wrists, which he noticed she was playing with absently, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

Well, he supposed, now was his cue.

"Funny seeing you here." He stepped behind her and dropped his voice.

She turned, blue eyes puzzled, but he watched in amusement as they narrowed in recognition. "What are you doing here?"

"That's not a very nice greeting." Darien teased, taking her arm in his. He began to walk her around the gallery, pausing every now and then in front of a piece of work. "I've been thinking about you."

"Oh yeah?" She answered, glancing at him suspiciously.

"Yes, and I think you should come out to dinner with me."

"No. I have a boyfriend you know."

"Who?" He asked, keeping his face carefully aligned in disinterest.

"Graham. This is his show." Her reply was a bit haughty and she lifted her chin up slightly, as if in defiance.

"Ah," Darien chuckled and pointed to a large collaged piece of a woman, body disjointed by layered Polaroid pictures. "I take it those must be your tits."

"You're a pompous jerk—"

"Now, now, don't get offended. It was a compliment. I'm actually disappointed I didn't get the chance to see them for myself—but we were in…hmm…quite a hurry, weren't we?"

Serena chose to ignore him, willing herself not to be charmed by his assertiveness. Instead, she yanked her arm from his and glared. "Why are you even here? Didn't take you much for an art lover."

"Why you'd be surprised at what I like and don't like. Haven't you seen Andrew? I'm sure he's wandering around here somewhere. His brother runs the gallery—Eli? You must of met him."

"I did. Still, I don't see why—"

"Well Andrew and I each own one-third of this place…if you must know. " Darien smirked at her surprised face, finding the way her mouth had fallen open just slightly incredibly sexy. God, he wanted her. "Come on, let me take you to dinner."

She shook her head, backing away from him with a hiss. "No, I already told you, I'm with Graham."

He countered her retreat with an easy step, coming close enough to count each one of her fluttering lashes. "That didn't seem to matter before."

"I was rolling and coked up out of my mind. Get over it." She fumed, looking for a way of escape. She practically sighed in relief when she spotted Graham heading toward her. "I think this conversation is over. Excuse me."

Latching onto Graham, her relief was short-lived for Darien had followed her, extending a hand to Graham.

"Darien Yaden. It's nice to meet you. Your work here is quite impressive."

"Thank you." Graham eyed Darien's expensive suit with calculation, before offering an open smile. "You interested in a piece?"

"Actually, no. But, in fact, I'm one of Eli's partners. I've been trying to persuade your girlfriend to let me take her to dinner so I can look at her work. I've been looking for a painter to fund and get a show together on my own. I think it'll be an interesting side project. I usually just deal with the gallery finances."

"Really? That's awesome. Eli mentioned something about possibly showing her work when she's getting ready to graduate, but—"

"No, Graham…I don't have time to—" Serena tried to interject, hating that part of her was impressed by Darien's skilled advances. If only he wasn't so damn attractive.

"Well, I was actually thinking of—depending on what her portfolio looks like—actually funding her for some big pieces. I can get her a studio space and pay for her supplies. So perhaps we can get a summer show together…maybe even May…but, I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Here." Darien handed Graham his business card and gave Serena a triumphant look. "She seemed a bit hesitant about—"

"God, both of you, stop it. Just stop it right now. You're talking like I'm not even here." She snapped, grabbing the card from Graham a bit more violently then she had planned. "I can make my own decisions."

"I'm sorry," Darien apologized, bowing his head graciously, though Serena didn't buy it for a second. "But think about, yeah? It could be a great start for your career. But I'll leave you two now, I think I just spotted a friend. Again, great show. And…Serena?"

"Yeah?" She grudgingly allowed herself to meet his eyes, finding them confident. She knew only a man who was used to always getting his way could have a gaze like that. "I'll think about…okay?"

"Good. I'm glad. Hope to hear from you soon." He straightened, shook Graham's hand once more, and turned away. They both watched his retreat, his air of elegance unmistakable.

"What an asshole." She muttered, about to toss the card in the trash, but Graham grabbed her hand.

"I can see that." He agreed, not wanting to push her. "But, personally, I think you should do it—asshole or not."

"You can't be serious?" She exclaimed, frustrated—though unsure why. "He just wants a piece of ass."

"Well…you're gorgeous. Can't really blame him. But what he can give you is worth far more than a fuck or two."

"Graham!"

"Hey, hey." He soothed, pulling her close. He laid gentle lips to her temple. "I'm sorry. But, listen, I think you should do it. Honestly. He's probably got more money than he knows what to do with. Let him help you out."

"I don't know…you know he was one of the guys I met that night out with Rei. Remember? The Penthouse boys?" She confessed, hoping to change his opinion, even though she doubted it would happen. The worst thing about Graham was that he trusted their love. Even if she ended up sleeping with Darien, Graham would understand, because he was confident that the bond they shared surpassed any physical connection.

"Well it's a small world, Serena. Even in New York." He hugged her close. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I know you love me."

"I do, Graham. I really do love you." She sighed, inhaling his familiar scent. It soothed her, heart and mind. She knew what Darien had offered was an opportunity of a lifetime. Any logical person wouldn't pass it up. And she wasn't even sure why she felt so threatened by him—like he would be the key to her undoing. But the undoing of what exactly?

"So you'll think about it then?"

She sighed again, hating that she felt she had just made a life-altering decision. "No, I'll do it. I guess I'm just being silly. I'll give Darien a call tomorrow."


	4. Spinning

Author's note: I'm such a good authoress, but terrible student. You owe this chapter to addicting reviews and procrastination at its best. ;) So please read and review and enjoy. Haha. Much love. PrincessJade.

**Falling is Like This**

04: Spinning

Serena was late and looking like a disheveled mess, her golden hair gone astray.

As usual, the G train was impossibly slow and by the time she reached Hoyt/Schermerhorn she was just lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the A as it passed her by. Fuck, she silently cursed, glancing at her phone. It was five after. Not only was she already late, she was going to be ridiculously late for dinner and Darien did not seem like the type of man who would appreciate waiting.

She ended up taking the C, making all local stops, so by the time she made it to Sushi D on 44th it was 8:35. She was over a half an hour late. Clutching her bag, she entered the restaurant—a quaint hole in the wall, but nicely furnished with modern-backed chairs and wide square tables. Serena half-hoped Darien had left, as she gave her name to the hostess, but was sorely disappointed when she was led promptly to a back room.

She found Darien sprawled out in a rounded booth, tie loosened at the throat and a glass of wine at his lips. He gave her a slow grin, "I didn't figure you'd be the most punctual person, but a half an hour? Ah, well it could always be worse."

"I'm sorry," Serena apologized, earnestly. "It's just my luck to miss every stupid train. I had to take the C. Really, I'm sorry."

"Ah, the subway. I see. At least you seem to be in a better mood than I left you last." He couldn't help but tease, hoping to get a rise out of her. Amazingly, she only laughed, allowing him the pleasure of glimpsing her dimples.

She took a seat and laid a black-bound portfolio on the table. "Here, it's just digital print-outs, but I can take you to see the originals if you have any extreme doubts."

He chuckled, pushing her portfolio to the side. "Why, you certainly get right down to business, don't you? How about we eat first? You must be hungry."

"Not really," She shrugged, but relaxed her shoulders enough so that Darien took it as a cue to pour her a glass of wine. She took a sip and made a soft sound of approval, "Mmm…red. Good choice."

"Not a fan of white?"

"Meh," She wrinkled her nose and watched his mouth slide into a real smile—blue gaze alight with something new, indescribable. Moved, she smiled back. "What are you smiling at?"

"At you," He shrugged, almost feeling sheepish. Her question had brought him back to reality. Within a blink of an eye, Serena found that his face had quickly rearranged itself back into something she was more familiar with—cocky businessman. However, his voice remained soft and sincere. "I don't know—you're just adorable—I haven't been around someone like you in quite a while. It's refreshing."

Serena didn't know how to take his compliment, so instead she opted to open her menu. "What's good?"

"Everything. You like sushi, don't you?"

"I do."

"Good. We'll share." Darien decided, motioning the waitress over to order for them both.

In the meantime, waiting for their food, they made small talk, both trying to figure the other out. It was obvious to them both that he was intrigued by her youth and her spirit, but she was surprised to find herself equally intrigued—interested by the challenge of discovering what made up a man like Darien Yaden.

He seemed to be full of contradictions, even by appearance. And although he was lean and tan, with a sharp jaw and straight nose, she was able to discern the softness around his mouth and an array of freckles, like tiny constellations, across his, otherwise flawless, skin.

He certainly was an enigma. A most likely dangerous enigma. But there seemed no turning back now.

At last, once their miso soup was set before them, he slid closer—close enough that she could smell his cologne—and began to flip through her portfolio. He nodded his approval, eyes full of amusement.

"Glad my instincts proved true."

"How so?" She pushed her glass toward him, a silent demand for more. He obliged, seemingly the gentleman.

"You have talent." He chuckled, seeing her slightly affronted face. "I could have just been throwing my money away on a pretty face. Though, I'm a realist, so I always knew it was a possibility that you'd be terrible, but, really, I'm glad you're not."

She rolled her eyes, dropping her spoon in her empty soup bowl, and said, "Well you could always have said that you weren't interested—you know—after you saw my work."

"You're right, I could have said that. But, you see, I've already bought a studio for you and…" He grabbed her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips, "I've decided that you're too tasty a treat to let go of—at least just yet."

"Who says I'm going to sleep with you again?" She countered, tugging her hand free with a scowl. She rubbed at her fingers, hoping to rid herself of the feel of his lips, while despising his ability to send her skin aflame.

His smirk was triumphant as he sat back, allowing the waitress to set down a large platter of sushi. He held her gaze, a magnetic blue hold that would not let her go.

Oh, she was so fucked.

"It's only an instinct. But as I just proved to you, Serena, my instincts are usually true."

--

"Oh…my…god." She hissed out, teeth clenched, as he filled her once again.

She doubted she could handle another round, but Darien seemed to think otherwise. And blearily, she looked toward the clock on his nightstand. At reading 3:06, she let out a laugh, unable to help herself.

"What are you giggling about?" He asked, biting at the tender flesh of her neck with a hot, open mouth.

"We've been fucking for the past five hours—I didn't know that was even possible." She continued to laugh, arching her back to allow him a better angle.

"Can we make it to six?" He teased, only half serious. He loved her scent, slick and sweetly sweaty. Hooking her right leg over his forearm, he rolled his hips, knowing it would elicit a delicious moan from her. However, this time, it came out more as a squeal of discomfort than an encouragement for more. Slowing his movements, he swiveled her legs, pulling her beneath him.

At last, face to face, Darien came to a startling realization.

Never. Not the first time. Not tonight. Not at all, not even once, had he ever caught her mouth in his own.

It was strange, for he had her every way imaginable tonight, hanging from the spiral staircase, splayed across sofa, on top the kitchen counter, and even somewhere on his bedroom floor. Now, amongst his sheets and pillows, he had tasted every nook and cranny. Thoroughly licked every inch of her, top to bottom. And yet, still, it had never occurred to him to kiss her.

In fact, he couldn't even recall the last time he had kissed—really kissed—someone he had slept with.

"Darien?" Serena asked, slightly worried. He had gone completely still. She touched his jaw with a gentle hand, catching his gaze. He was far, far away. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He was looking at her now, really looking at her. It knocked at the edge of her heart in a way she didn't dare want to analyze. "I was just thinking."

"Thinking?" She gave him a questioning smile. "Whatever about?"

"I don't even know." He lied, leaning down so her nose bumped his, foreheads grazing. Considering, he nipped at her nose and began to move once more. Breath warm against her face, he whispered, "Am I hurting you?"

"No." She shook her head, hands soft upon his shoulders. He was so close that all she could see were the inky depths of his eyes. "This is good."

"It is." He smiled and continued to fuck her slowly, face impossibly close. Listening as her breath hitched in and out, he reached down to stroke her clit. He found it hard and slick and spun it beneath the pad of his thumb. She sighed, tilting her head back with pleasure.

"Darien." She startled him, open mouth skimming his, and began to move against him. "I'm so close. Yes, so close. So good. Kiss me. Kiss me. Why won't you kiss me?"

"Because I want you to kiss me." He told her, brushing his lips against the corner of her mouth. Teasingly, he ran his tongue along her jaw, latching on to her earlobe. There, he whispered pleadingly, "Oh, kiss me. Kiss me, Serena. Kiss me."

"Yes, yes. I do. I'm trying, fuck, I want—" She cried and nipped and mewled, struggling to find his mouth—yet, still, he evaded her, knowing it was driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, please, oh god, please." She begged, grabbing at the back of his head. She feared she would go insane if he did not kiss her now. "Darien."

"Serena." He groaned, as she squirmed wildly beneath him, knees pressed tensely to his sides with her face on the brink of orgasm—a most amazing sight.

"Oh, oh, oh," She cried, nails digging into his scalp as she began to pulsated wildly around him, pulling his mouth to hers for a hard, first kiss.

"Fucking hell," He groaned into her mouth, tongue delving hungrily in to find hers, as his hips shuddered helplessly, his vision exploding into a million tiny pinpricks.

After a long moment, he gently pulled out, rolling them to their sides, and continued to kiss her—with soft, open-mouthed kisses—until their heartbeats had slowed into the rhythm of sleep.

--

"Darien, I have to go." An amused voice filtered hazily through his mind. Opening his eyes, he was blinded by the morning light slanting in from the East. "Did you hear me?"

Groggily, he squinted toward the end of the bed, where Serena was standing, fully dressed and silhouetted against the morning sky. "What time is it?"

"Seven. I have to go." She told him, as he reached a hand out for her.

"Come here." He beckoned, not liking her toying grin. She grasped it, but didn't let him pull her back in bed. She smiled, dropping his hand, and backed away.

"I promised Graham I'd meet him for breakfast."

Darien scowled at the name, but silently watched her head for the stairs.

"When will I see you again?"

She laughed, catching his gaze before disappearing from view. "When you have the keys to my new studio."


	5. Head First

Author's Note: Here you go darlings! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Chapter five. So please enjoy. Sorry it took some time…I've been busy moving into my new apartment and planning my wedding…so things have been kind of crazy. Reviews welcome! Much love,

PrincessJade

**Falling is Like This**

05: Head First

It was nearing the end of November and with Thanksgiving right around the corner, the weather had suddenly descended into an array of frost-bitten nights and glacial days. Winter was fast approaching—something Serena was not looking forward to—with its slush, ice, and freezing rain. And though she didn't mind the snow, it was a rare sight for the city to ever become a full-fledged Winter Wonderland. Wrapped tightly in a purple pea-coat and woolen scarf, she hurried past a handful of colorful Village shops as she made her way toward her studio.

It had been about a month and a half since Graham's opening at the Eli Welling Gallery—which earned him a small write up in Art Forum as well as on Wooster Collective and Notcot. Without a doubt, it had been a huge success, giving him nice sales on a few of his bigger pieces.

As for Serena, she'd been spending her weekends in the village with Darien. She occupied her time with painting, mixing pigments, stretching canvas, and, once and a while, a line or two before a night out on the town. Sometimes they stayed at the penthouse, but most nights they would be found in the studio, counting the glow-and-the-dark constellations they had laid out across the ceiling.

But it was her weekdays that still belonged to Graham. They spent those comfortable nights smoking joints, watching foreign films, and playing phase 10 together. And sometimes, while she refined ideas in her sketchbook with her feet nestled securely in his lap, he would strum his guitar or read aloud from his newest flea-market find.

And though both of the men in her life knew of each other—neither liked sharing very much. So Serena found it easiest to just keep them separate: Manhattan against Brooklyn; Play against School; Sex against Love.

She had opted to skip work this Wednesday morning, deciding instead to get an early start on the holiday weekend. She had two large canvases she wanted to prime, before stretching a third. Graham was leaving late tonight to spend Thanksgiving with his family in Buffalo, so she had invited him to stop by, eager for his opinion on her newest paintings. She didn't foresee a problem, figuring Darien would be tied up at work, and besides, it was technically still a weekday, holiday or not.

It was a little past one by the time she arrived at the studio—which she adored—and unlocked its pristine white door. The studio was large and spacious, with a gorgeous brick wall stretching against the entire eastward wall.

The north side was cluttered with supplies. Mason jars lined two makeshift shelves, filled with varied solvents and mediums that were carefully labeled. Darien had helped her construct the shelves, lining up the wood and drilling the supports. He was, surprisingly, pretty handy once he rolled up his expensive shirt-sleeves and got his hands dirty.

The sun was high in the sky, lighting two large paintings that rested against the wall, as well as a fewer small pieces stacked in the corner. To the south, there was a full mattress, lavender sheets twisted and bunched amongst a family of pillows. It was near the small kitchenette, if one could really call it that, consisting of a small square counter top, a gas stove, and a mini-fridge.

Granted, yes, it was a bit disordered, with everything spilling out toward the center of the room, but it was homey and it was hers and she loved it.

Turning on some Radiohead, Serena tied back her long blonde hair—her bangs secured behind a black bandana—and got down to work. She began locking her stretcher bars together, testing their shape against a corner of the ceiling, ensuring it was square. She reinforced the frame, before unfolding a large piece of linen (that had cost an arm and a leg) and stapling it down. She had decided on a whim to use the linen, feeling deep down in her bones that this painting would be the one—her best.

She could only hope her instincts would be right.

After the linen had been stretched across its wooden frame, Serena poured a generous amount of gesso in a bowl and began spreading it around with a large brush. It took her 15 minutes to establish the first coat, happily singing along with Thom Yorke, and while waiting for her canvas to dry, she lit up a Djarum Black.

And this was how Darien found her, happily smoking, perched on the window sill in her bare feet. She was all a glow in the afternoon sun, with the blue smoke of her clove cigarette curling around her head in tiny intricate designs. She turned in surprise at his appearance, hopping down from the window with a pleasant smile.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"It's been a long day already." He shrugged, offering her a bouquet of oriental lilies as he crossed the threshold in three strides. "Thought I'd stop by early—in hopes you'd be here. I didn't know what your plans for Thanksgiving were and…"

"Oh," She gushed in delight, taking the flowers and handing the cigarette to him, which he stubbed out in a glass ashtray. "They're beautiful. Thank you."

While Serena carried fragrant lilies to the kitchen, Darien tossed his jacket and briefcase across the mattress and looked around. The studio was in an orderly mess; smelling of medium and solvent and a mix of gesso, cloves, and tobacco—the scent of contentment.

And, fuck it, he was content, even though he didn't like nor want to admit it—he had missed her.

From behind, he watched her fill a large can with water before dropping the lilies inside. His hand gentle and familiar as it swept back a lock of gold from her slender neck and dropped a kiss to the top of her spine. "Do you need help, pet?"

She turned and gave him a warning glare. They had already been over the "pet" issue. But he only laughed boyishly, because he loved her glares best, and pulled her to him.

"Come on, Serena. What do you want me to do?"

"You can—" She began, allowing him a generous kiss, but was interrupted by a steady knock at the door. From the hall, she heard Graham's voice call out her name. She felt Darien tense and glanced at his expression. His eyes had darkened dangerously, a midnight blue, carefully observant of her next move.

"Shit, I forgot—" She gave him a pleading look and pushed him toward the bathroom. "Please?"

He looked as if, for a moment, he was going to fight her or at least make a scene, but finally he stepped back, face blank, and shut the door behind him.

"Serena? Are you there?"

"I'm coming! Hold on." She ran over and opened the door, revealing a bemused Graham on the other side with a blue bag slung over his shoulder. Critical, she asked, "Is that all you're bringing home?"

He laughed, giving her a sweet kiss, and stepped inside. "Yes, I'm sorry my packing habits aren't quite up to par with yours."

"Shut up," She hit him playfully in the shoulder, which he, as always, good naturedly accepted.

"You know," He dropped his bag, turning serious, and gathered her to him. "You can still come to Buffalo with me."

"I know." She smiled, offering him her love, because she knew he wasn't happy with her decision to stay in the city. "But I've got a lot of stuff I want to get done and…"

"Okay, okay. I know when I've lost the battle." He told her with a reluctant sigh. Glancing around the studio, he noticed the can of flowers and the rumpled mattress in envy, even though he had told himself he was above all that. When he stroked her hair, it was with a possessive hand. "Does he sleep here with you?"

"Graham." Serena warned, attempting to pull away, suddenly reminded that Darien would be able to hear everything that was being said. But he wouldn't release her. Stricken, she touched Graham's mouth and gave him her sincerest look, hoping to appease them both. "You know the answer to that. Come on, love. I want your opinion on these."

"In a second, baby—you know—we've got time. I want you to give me a proper goodbye." Graham tugged her toward the bed with his persuasive hands, fingers long and knowing, mouth on hers. "I'm going to miss you."

Oh, her heart lurched painfully in her chest at his adoring look. It hurt more, knowing she couldn't give him what he wanted, because she wanted to indulge him. She could imagine them now, tumbling across the bed—Graham's lanky body filling her hands, her mouth, herself—for a thorough and loving goodbye. It would be a wonderful way to spend her afternoon, but she would never do that, not with Darien here.

"I'm going to miss you too, but—" Shrieking, she was unable to stop her giggle when his mouth descended upon the hypersensitive spot below her collarbone. In a panic, feeling her body soften and warm, she struggled away from his mouth—needing the distance. "Graham! No, stop, I can't, I can't!"

His frown was skeptical. Serena was always in the mood for a fuck, whether hard or tender, and he couldn't remember, thinking back now, of a time she'd ever refused. "No? Why not?"

"I have to go to New York Central!" She exclaimed the first thing that popped into her mind.

"I can be quick."

"Graham—"

"Serena."

"Graham," She laughed, wondering how she endlessly got herself in these types of situations. "Please, we really can't. I would get too distracted with your beautiful boney hips and spend all my time kissing them goodbye and then I'd forget to pick up what I need. Seriously, come with me to New York Central. It'll be fun. Please?"

"All right, all right. If you insist." He said, eventually giving in, as always. "But I think my idea would have been a much better way to waste some time."

Satisfied the rest of his stay would be PG, Serena then showed him her newest work, seeing his approval in the soft gray of his eyes. He liked the colors, he told her with a smile, and thought that the muted flesh tones of the females were nicely in contrast to the graphic-quality of their hair. He then pointed out some anatomy issues—his specialty—and with a brush he quickly re-angled some elbows and knees.

While he surveyed the new angles, Serena casually glanced toward the bathroom door and, knowing Darien had been in there for over a half an hour, was relieved to find that it still remained shut. Though she doubted that Darien was leisurely waiting out Graham's stay. She could practically picture him, a dark, brooding panther, pacing back and forth in his cage. Ah, fuck, there was no way he was going to be very happy with her.

Feeling guilty, though mostly not wanting to wait for Darien's breaking point, she hurried Graham along with an alluring smile, hoping to get out of here as fast as possible.

"Come on, let's get going. I just need some more paint and then I'll come with you to the airport and—oh!—I'll buy you a drink, but you'll have to order."

"I know, Miss I'm-Not-Twenty-one-Yet." He laughed, grabbing his bag. He slung a long arm around her shoulders. "If we have time, I'll buy you dinner. What are you in the mood for?"

...

It was almost nine by the time Serena made it back to the Village.

The subway had been slow, but she'd been drunk, so she hadn't really minded the long ride. Once she'd gotten off, she stopped at a small Mexican restaurant and ordered take-out—a peace offering—just in case Darien stopped by. Although she doubted it, assuming she'd have to deal with his steely gaze tomorrow afternoon.

That would be interesting.

Oh well, it was better this way, she told herself. She had a nice time with Graham and wasn't in the mood for his angry remarks.

So, when trudging up the steps to her studio, she was surprised to spot light coming from beneath the door. She could hear the smoky tones of a piano, accented by the sweet voice of Billie Holiday.

Unprepared, Serena opened the door to a most astonishing sight.

Darien was kneeling in front of her canvas, dressed in just a pair of expensive slacks, sanding away at its surface, cigarette dangling from his mouth. She wanted to laugh, finding his look of concentration, especially the slight furrow of his brow, endearing. Upon walking further into the room, she spotted a few splatters of gesso across his arms and stomach and realized he had finished priming her canvas for her. Touched, Darien happened to looked up just in time to catch her soft expression.

"See? I promised I'd help you out." He greeted, dropping the sandpaper at the smell of Mexican, and wrapped an arm around her waist as she stepped alongside of him. She allowed him to pull her close, resting her forearm atop his head. Even on his knees, he came nearly past her breasts. She dropped the bags—purse, food, and paint supplies—and plucked the burning cigarette from his lips, taking a drag.

He didn't seem to mind. Motioning toward the large paper take-out bag, he said, "I'm starving. I hope you brought enough for two."

"I did, even though I didn't expect you to still be here."

"Surprise. Surprise." He said, dipping a finger into the jar of gesso, with a smirk. He swiped it across her cheek, ignoring her angry twitter, and held her tight. "I should be mad. You left me in there for at least 45 minutes. I thought I'd go insane. There's only so long a person should be allowed to sit in that damn excuse for a bathroom."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry." She wiped at her cheek, exasperated when it came away white, though her expression remained amused. "I'm surprised you aren't mad—_wait_—why aren't you mad?"

He took the cigarette back from her and, stubbing it out with a laugh, tugged her down for a kiss. "Because you're coming to Cape May with me."

"I'm what?"

"You heard me."

She struggled against him, indignant. "I never said—"

"I know." God, he loved her glares. And her little fists. "But Graham's in Buffalo. Therefore I know you aren't busy. So you're coming with me."

"Like hell I am." She reached for the gesso, ready to retaliate, but he managed to get to it first and wiped a handful through her hair. She shrieked, not pleased, and launched herself at him with a vengeance. "Darien! Not my hair!"

"What? It suits you. And you are coming." He laughed harder, enjoying her struggling attempts, which only resulted in eventually knocking the gesso completely over. It spilled across the floor to much of her horror.

"You're cleaning that up." She sulked, splashing at a puddle with her hand. It splattered the length of his pants. "Oops…too bad I'm not—"

In a split of a second, Darien's mood shifted, like going from hot water to cold, and had her roughly pressed against the floor. His gaze was dark. "Not playing? Neither am I. Don't bring him here again."

If she even had a reply, he didn't care, for he swallowed it with a bruising kiss.

It was a kiss that spoke volumes. A kiss that said:

_You're mine_.


	6. Freefall

Author's note:

This is for all those who have reviewed. You feed my words. This chapter is for you.

PrincessJade

**Falling is Like This**

06: Freefall

Serena should have known that a "no" only meant "yes" in Darien Yaden's world.

For, unbeknownst to her, Darien had packed her a small bag of clothes and toiletries the night before. And the next morning, before she knew exactly what was going on, he had somehow managed to whisk her away in the blue rental car he'd parked a block away, latte in hand.

Now, flying down the NJ Turnpike, along the blue coastline, sun sparkling off the water, she found herself glad to be out of the city and glad of Darien's persistence. And, glancing over at his sleek profile, decided it was one of his better, even if annoying, traits.

Knowing she was not a morning person, he had woken her at seven, with his face buried between her sleepy thighs, and coaxed her into the shower for a slow fuck, slick and steamy against the tiled wall. And after their leisured climb toward pleasure, he had gently washed her golden hair, fingers soothing against her scalp, and scrubbed a few missed spots of dried gesso from both their bodies, all the while, teasing her about all the dirty things he'd done to her last night. So by the time they had dried off and he was knelt in front of her, mouth pressed against the toned slope of her belly, he had her so deliriously distracted that when he told her to get dressed, she hadn't questioned him—only obeyed.

So here she was, driving to Cape May to spend her Thanksgiving with her wealthy benefactor. Or was he her patron? Well, actually, she mused, she could essentially call him her sugar daddy, because isn't that basically what he was? Now, wasn't that funny?

God, it was strange how her life had become increasingly fit for the soap operas.

"Are you hungry?" Darien asked, breaking the companionable silence that had spread between them, once they passed a sign reading "rest stop—one mile." Glancing at her face and then at her crossed ankles, propped girlishly up on the dashboard, he smirked. "Need a stretch? Or is it a nap?"

"I'm fine." She assured him, leaning over to touch his shoulder. She turned down the stereo, which had been blaring some Wolf Parade—for she was broadening Darien's music horizons—and asked, "How much longer will it be?"

"Forty minutes, maybe, an hour at the most. You'll like Cape May. It's beautiful, even around this time of year."

"I bet. I've never been there, but I've heard it's wonderful. Do you go there often?"

"I try to. But I haven't been back in a year or so. Things have been hectic. But it's always nice to revisit your childhood."

"Ah, so you grew up there?" Serena smiled, trying to picture Darien as a boy, youthful and innocent, face sculpted from the salt of the sea. Surprised at the idea, but strangely pleased, she wondered, "Am I going to meet your family?"

"No." He shook his head, wrapping an arm around her so he could smell her hair. "My parents died when I was really young. I was raised by my grandmother, but she's been gone a long time now too."

"I'm sorry." And she was. Her parents were also far away, currently doing humanitarian work in the south of Africa, so she understood the idea of being alone. But all alone? No, at least she still had the support system of her family. She still knew, if she needed them, they would be there. Sorrowfully, she confessed, "I can't imagine what that must feel like."

Darien chuckled, touched by her kindness, but decided to clarify that he needed no sympathy. "Don't feel sad for me, pet. I'm perfectly fine. I have no regrets. My grandmother gave me a wonderful childhood. I'm grateful for what I had. There's no need to be bitter about what I don't have now. Nor feel sorry about it."

"Oh, Darien," She squeezed the hand he had around her shoulders and looked up at him with a new sense of respect. "Tell me about her. I want to know what she was like."

"Well," he smiled, the corners of his mouth soft, as he conjured up the image of his grandmother's soft hands and blue apron. "She made the best snickerdoodles in the whole wide world."

"Mmm. Snickerdoodles. Those are my favorite. Did she teach you the recipe? God, I hope so! You should make me some." She told him, completely serious, her little upturned face all a glow. "You should make me Thanksgiving snickerdoodles."

"Fuck, Serena, you're amazing. You know that? Completely and utterly amazing." He told her, laughing out loud. He tugged her even closer, mouth to her forehead, fingers enmeshed in her hair. "I don't know how I ever got lucky enough to find you. It's a mystery. A mystery I'm sincerely grateful for."

"Oh, don't be silly." She giggled and shrugged off his flattery—as she did with all of his compliments—and scoffed, "Besides, you didn't find me. I found you."

--

And Cape May was just as beautiful as Darien had claimed, if not, even more.

Serena found the wide, sturdy structure of his grandmother's house instantly charming. Its slanted porch, with its white paint peeling and blue clap-board shutters made an idyllic image when set against the rolling backdrop of the coastline. It sat just a few feet back from the dunes, large glass windows, lovingly weathered by the sandy hands of time, proudly stood to greet the endless, frothy-lipped, waves. In the distance, an old lighthouse, no longer lit, but still regal in its presence, could be seen.

Like a postcard, it was perfect in its entirety.

Once they had arrived, Darien led her up the creaking steps, carrying their bags, and into the foyer, sparsely decorated, but beautiful in a minimalist-meets-country cottage sort of way.

The house smelt of the sea—sandcastles, seashells, and mermaids.

Oh, she thought in delight, she was in love.

"It's wonderful!" She told him, spinning in the light that shone down from a skylight above the stairs. "How could you ever leave a place like this?"

Wisely, entering the living room, empty for all but a yellow sofa and white coffee table, he said, "Sometimes, in life, you have to leave even the things you love most."

Off of the living room, was the kitchen, with eggshell-white tiles and faded turquoise wallpaper. The counters, she noticed, were new, but the cabinets looked original. In one corner, next to two French doors, which led out to a deck, was a silver lined vanity mirror. It hung above a thinly painted wood table, legs masterly hand-carved. A large water pitcher, with creamy white curves, like the body of a woman, sat elegantly upon the homemade surface. On the handle there were delicate, hand-painted, flowers, which Darien—at her small noise of appreciation—told her his grandmother had been a potter and that her wheel was still in the studio, located at the back of the house on the second floor.

"Can you throw?"

"Of course. Can you?"

"I tried once, but failed miserably."

"Oh, everyone fails their first time. You just need to practice."

"Maybe I don't like to practice."

"Shut up." She hit him, catching his teasing grin. "You can't be perfect at everything."

"Says who?"

Opening the refrigerator, he saw it was freshly stocked with the essentials, and murmured more to himself, than anyone, "Simone must have figured I'd be stopping by. I should go thank her." Then, turning to Serena, he motioned toward the sea. "Go on. Go explore. I know you want to. But don't be too long though. I'll make us some dinner."

"You don't want help?"

"No. No." He urged her on, "I think I can solo some egg sandwiches and home fries."

Laughing, she eagerly opened the French doors to sea, but not before giving him one last parting kiss. "All right, as long as you insist. But try not to burn the place down."

--

Darien, like many things she'd discovered about him recently, was a very good cook.

Even by tasting such a simple meal as an egg sandwich, she could tell he was skilled in the kitchen, and wondered why he'd never cooked for her before.

The man was still a mystery, but slowly, she felt, she was beginning to peel back his layers, hoping finally get a glimpse of his core. Curiously, she wondered if Graham had ever been mysterious or infuriating, as Darien seemed, in her quest to understand.

She couldn't really remember. It had seemed that Graham and her had just clicked, instantly, and there had been no problems—no quarrels, no struggles, no steep hills to climb—as there always seemed to be with Darien. Though she wasn't complaining. Actually, she liked the struggle. It kept things interesting.

She could have ended up with a rich bore, instead of a rich, brooding, complexity.

After dinner, Darien took her for a stroll around town, hand in hers. He showed her where his best friend used to live and his favorite teenage hangout and the back of deserted building where he had had his first kiss. The town was quiet, with only a few locals out and about, for most were at home, slaving away in the kitchen in preparation for tomorrow, or, as expected, out of town with their families. As the sun began to set, they stopped to buy a bottle of Merlot and some groceries, before heading back for the house on the dunes.

Now, a perfect end to a good day, wrapped in a sage afghan, they drank from the bottle, watching the tide come in and stars come out. Quietly, sitting side by side, cocooned in the blanket, they let the steady sound of the waves lull their thoughts.

He was thinking of her smile, the smell of her hair mixed with the sea, and the way her laugh always seemed to bubble up from the depths of her being.

She was thinking of his childhood, of the many nights he'd seen like this, and wondered with whom he had spent them with. Had they been beautiful? Had they been girlfriends? Had he been in love?

And both were wondering, strangely enough, how they had come to this—knees gently bumping, knuckles skimming, shoulders kissing—and anticipated, yet feared, what would come next, once fall moved into winter and winter into spring.

What could possibly come of this?

Good memories, she thought, with a smile—things to tell your daughter, on the cusp of adulthood, what older men and stolen nights could bring.

And he, well, he was still deciding what he wanted to come out of all of this. He, nearing twenty-eight, had carefully been considering his life—his career, his friends, his women—and what he wanted down the road. He wasn't exactly old, but he wasn't exactly young anymore.

The moon was full, high in the sky, when she finally turned to him, climbing into his lap. Wrapping her slender arms around his neck, she looked deeply into his eyes.

"I'm glad I came."

"You mean you're glad I tricked you into coming." He reminded her, reaching up to catch her moon-lit hair. She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, yes, I'm glad you tricked me into coming."

The night suited her, he decided. The stars. The moon. The darkened sky. The silver light. All of it. It turned her into a goddess, immortal in her beauty, eternally young and bright.

He kissed her, mouths melding together, and felt her rock against him. It was a slow burn. Both, tantalized, by this new sense of give and take and share, were glad to be locked—legs, arms, lips—like this, beneath the sky, on the edge of the stars, at the foot of the sea.

"Me too." He told her, pulling back to study her face. She gave him a puzzled smile, mouth swollen, mauve-colored against her glowing skin.

"You too?"

"Yes," He whispered, almost too low to hear. "I'm glad you're glad. I'm glad you're here."


	7. Tripping

Thank you for all of the amazing feedback and reviews. It warms my heart. I apologize for this taking forever. I got a bit distracted with summer things. And then there was some beta-fright. Haha. But, yes, please read and review. And I hope everyone's having a great summer. Much, much, much love. And hopefully the next chapter will not take as long as this.

PrincessJade

**Falling is Like This**

07: Tripping

When Serena woke, it was with a smile, sensing that the morning was clear and bright.

Though it was nearly noon by the time she finally got herself out of bed—due to an explicit James and Gael filled dream (which included chocolate and sprinkles) that regretfully had to come to an end—and was surprised that Darien had let her even sleep in at all. It was rare, on their weekends together, that he did. And it was an even rarer occurrence that he was not beside her, spooned against the curve of her spine with his breath warm against the pale, translucent shell of her ear.

And it seemed that he always desired her—morning, noon, and night—though she frankly believed her desirability was rooted in the carefree glamour of being twenty and less because of her actual person. But she didn't mind, because, to her, Darien's desirability lay within his age and experience and, of course, his money. And it was better that, no matter what happened later, no matter what intimacies arose, the relationship would always be and have been rooted in those selfish beginnings.

It was a relationship of advantages. She gained from his money and connections (the incredible cunnilingus was only an added bonus); and he from her recklessness and age of no commitments, something that was refreshing, simply because he knew she'd never have expectations. She would never want the ring or the house or the kids—at least not now and not from him.

And so they used each other, extensively and without apology, and seemed to be equally good at it. In fact, they seemed to revel in what each took from the other.

Though, she was aware, a bit disconcertingly so, that last night had been something new. It was the first time that they had both let their guard down. Not that they had ever had specific walls up, per say, but rather they had kept their perceptions of one another blocked off. And perhaps it had been the magic of the moonlight or the sweet sonata of the sea, but she had allowed herself to see Darien differently—not only as a man, but as an equal. He wasn't above or below. He simply was. And she now wondered, gazing out from the bedroom balcony toward the rolling green waves, had his vision of her changed as well?

Was she still only a pet to him? Amusing and entertaining and in need of care? Or had he come to think more of her? Maybe even see her as a friend?

Because, she feared that she was beginning to like the person he was, the one without the frills and embellishments, and hoped he felt the same. It would be nice if they could be real friends, since as lovers they could never be real.

Still absorbed in her thoughts, she continued to dawdle, despite hearing the clang of pots and pans from the kitchen below. Darien must have started on their Thanksgiving dinner, because he had promised her a full home-cooked meal. But, enjoying the time to herself, she decided to tidy up the room first and unpack their bags.

When she opened up the large cedar wardrobe, which stood majestically at the head of the room, it spilled out the scent of lemons and gardenia. Inside, taped to its doors, were Polaroid pictures, not at all like the dreamy faded colors of Graham's images. But instead, these were black and white, their edges faded and colored with age—documents of a smiling couple, at the height of their youth and beauty. She figured they must be Darien's grandmother and grandfather, captured in their moments of newlywed bliss.

Opening a few drawers, she discovered more pictures, stacked neatly in the back. Casually, while flipping through a handful, she came across another smiling couple, hand in hand, with a young boy. Instantly, she knew it was Darien and his parents. They were beautiful.

His mother was radiant—dressed in a summer dress and a wide-brimmed hat, one arm wrapped around her son, the other entwined with her husband's. They were all laughing—at what Serena didn't know. Perhaps it was the moment, or a silly cameraman, or maybe even something the young Darien had said. But, regardless of the reason, they looked happy—they looked whole.

Fingering the picture, she decided that he looked most like his father, tall and tapered. She could see where he had inherited his feline grace. And could understand why his stance, with his neck long and shoulders back, had evolved to be that way.

The stolen image of Darien's youth caused a rush of sentiment to flood her, touching her in an unexpected way. She stood there for a long time. Much longer than she realized, before remembering how and why she stumbled upon these pictures in the first place. Chastised, she quickly got back to work, knowing it wasn't nice to snoop.

She finished putting their clothes away and then began to make the bed, taking extra care to tuck and fold the sheets the way she imagined his grandmother would have.

When she finally headed toward the bathroom, she noticed on the vanity, with a sort of satisfaction, that Darien had cut her two lines, as seemed to be his custom lately. And, as usual, she took them, quickly and without thinking—like it was no different than brushing her teeth or combing her hair—before hopping into the shower.

--

Half an hour later, Serena made her way downstairs. She looked quite demure, freshly washed and dressed in jeans and a light pink sweater. Her hair was wet and had begun to curl down her back and around her unmarked face—her freckles a visible sprawl across the bridge of her nose.

She was smiling. And she was hopeful. But, one may wonder, of what exactly?

Well, of that, she wasn't quite sure.

Thus, when she rounded the corner and headed for the kitchen, she had been fully intent on getting her hands dirty. She had decided earlier that she would help Darien with whatever he needed, despite the fact that she was succinctly aware that she was a horrible cook. Well, it wasn't that she necessarily horrible. She just hadn't had many experiences in the kitchen and, like anything, cooking took practice. But yes, the point was, she had been fully intent on trying to help Darien cook until she had heard:

"Don't forget the sugar, silly."

Instantly, her hopeful mood vanished. In its place was a feeling of wariness. Even though, at her entrance, both, Darien and the dark-haired woman at his side, turned and gave her a welcoming smile.

"Serena. This is Simone. She's an old friend of mine." Darien introduced, hands deep in flour. Serena couldn't help but notice that Simone's hands were covered as well. She wiped them on her pants, before offering one in greeting.

"Hello. It's nice to meet you." Her voice was deep, but magically feminine. And her smile was honey-lipped and genuine.

Serena was torn between admiration and dislike.

Simone was long of limb and elegant in dress. She had an olive complexion and unique hazel eyes, which in the sun, had a ruby-like quality about them. There was no denying she was gorgeous, making Serena wish she had put on some make-up.

She especially hated feeling like a child. But with Simone standing near Darien, looking very much his equal in finesse and age, she couldn't help but feel her inferiority.

Fuck, wasn't she above this childish feeling of envy?

"It's a pleasure." She heard herself say. Then, turning to Darien, she asked, "Need help?"

"Not really." He shrugged, and then smiled. "I think Simone and I can handle it. I invited her and her daughter over for dinner. It seems kind of silly to cook all this food for just the two of us. Besides, I know how you hate to cook."

"True." She conceded, carefully, trying not to sulk. She didn't have the right to be petty. She looked to Simone and attempted a smile. "How old is your daughter?"

"She's seven. I adopted her three years ago actually. She's really the best thing that's ever happened to me." Simone explained generously, though she glanced briefly at Darien as she said it. "She's looking for seashells outside right now. See?" She pointed out the window. Serena looked out and saw a tiny girl, dressed in purple, crouched down near the waves. "Her name is Hannah."

"She's the sweetest thing." Darien told her as headed past her to grab something from the refrigerator. On his way back, he dropped a kiss to her forehead. It did little to pacify her increasing annoyance. "Why don't you go out and keep her company? Dinner should be in a few hours."

Don't sulk. Don't sulk. Don't sulk.

"Are you sure you don't—"

"No, no. We're fine. Don't worry about it." He waved her on.

"Okay. Sure. No problem. I like seashells." She said sweetly, anger flaring as she turned on her heel. She resisted the urge to slam the door, but as long as she was being dismissed like a child, she allowed herself, even this once, to simmer and boil and stew in a full-blown sulk once safely outside.

--

Darien was right.

Hannah was a sweet girl, though it took the child a while to warm up to Serena. It was most likely a combination of natural shyness and keen perception. Serena did not doubt that her foul mood had been felt by the pale-faced Hannah.

Children were known to be like that, especially at this age.

Together, they meandered along the gray sea, collecting shells and frosted glass. They counted seagulls. And, finally, when they were tired of walking, they dropped down onto the sand in front of the house and watched the clouds pass by.

Serena asked Hannah if she liked living here. The girl nodded, with a quiet intensity, and told her it was much better than an orphanage. She liked having her own things—especially her own mother.

After a while, the child cuddled up to Serena's side, finally won over.

"Are you Darien's girlfriend?" She questioned innocently, training violet eyes on Serena, who was unsure of what to say.

She decided to take the question at face value and answered, truthfully, "No. We're just friends. I have a boyfriend back in New York. His name is Graham."

"That's good." Hannah smiled. She was missing one tooth. And then, in confidence, said, "Mommy won't be sad then. She always gets sad when Darien has a girlfriend."

"Oh, yeah? Does he bring them here a lot?"

Hannah shook her head. "No. You're the only girl he's ever brought here. I think that's why Mommy was sad last night. But I'll tell her! I'll tell her that you and Darien are just friends." Then she giggled, pointing toward the sky. "Look! It looks like a rabbit!"

"Yes," Serena said, absently. "Yes, it does."

--

Dinner was delicious.

Darien carved the turkey, while the women passed around the side-dishes. Everyone drank wine, even little Hannah, who was allowed a small glass. And for desert, there was a chilled pumpkin roll and a game of go-fish, much to Hannah's delight.

The envy Serena had first felt when meeting Simone, was now replaced, courtesy of Hannah, by sympathy. It was obvious by Simone's body language that she loved Darien deeply. However, what kind of love it was, Serena was not sure. For, the history between them was obvious, even if Darien hadn't mentioned that Simone had been his first childhood friend.

It was dusk—the sky a reverse tequila sunrise—when Simone and Hannah departed. The child needed a bath and Simone allowed herself to be pulled away by her giddy daughter (who had won three hands of go-fish)—thanking Darien for a wonderful dinner and once again expressing her pleasure at meeting Serena.

They waved goodbye. And once their heads disappeared over the dunes, Darien grabbed Serena's hand and pulled her close. "Thank you for being nice. You weren't too bored, were you? I'll make it up to you—"

"Why would I have been? Were you?"

Darien laughed. "No, but it wasn't what I had originally planned."

"Oh, no?" She glanced up at him, surprised. His fingers were wiggling themselves underneath her sweater.

"No." He pulled her tighter and leaned in for a kiss. "But Simone dropped by this morning. You were still sleeping. And she looked a bit lonely. I thought it was the least I could do."

"Well," She evaded him, angered by his easy dismissal of Simone. "I think she's in love with you."

He laughed, until he saw her serious expression. "That's ridiculous. I'll admit that we were in love once. But it didn't work out. We decided we were better off as friends."

Perceptive, she poked him in the chest. "You mean _you_ decided you were better off as friends."

"No—well, yes? So what? She agreed."

Serena shook her head, glaring at him. "What choice did you leave her?"

"I…I don't know. Jesus, Serena. What has gotten into you?" Darien asked her, exasperated. She was so confusing. "You were jealous of her this morning and now—"

"I was NOT." She squeaked in protest, hoping to cover her embarrassment. "I was annoyed at the way you dismissed me like a child. I wanted to help. I don't hate cooking that much."

"Yes you do. You told me. I thought I was being kind by letting you off the hook. I thought you were _glad_ to be out of the kitchen. I thought—"

"Well, obviously you think too much." She cut him off, icily.

"Obviously." He answered, going deathly still. From his back pocket, he tossed a plastic bag her way. "I had gotten these before we left. I thought that…I don't know…never mind. Take them. I don't want them. Do what you want."

Serena watched him walk away from her and toward the ocean.

Glancing down, she peered at the contents of the bag and felt her throat tighten.

--

Because she was stubborn, she went inside and cleaned the kitchen. And because she understood the way men were, even though Graham and Darien couldn't be any more different, she decided it was best to let him be.

He'd come back in. He had to.

She listened to the clock as it first chimed seven. She washed dishes. Then it chimed eight. She opened a book, but remained on the same page, the words a jumbled mess beneath her.

The clock chimed nine.

Yet, still, no Darien.

Not knowing what else to do, unless she go mad, she dialed the familiar number and sighed in relief at his voice.

"Serena. Love. How are you?"

"Okay."

His tone was like water, warm and protective.

"You sound upset, what's wrong?"

"Oh…I've been a crazy bitch. I don't know. I guess I feel bad about it. It must be the hormones."

"I see. One of those moods. You must be with someone then—Darien?" His voice was not unkind.

Oh, why was Graham so saintly? Where was his temper? Where was his fire?

"How'd you know?"

"It was just a guess. Piss him off, did you?"

She pouted.

"Don't pout."

"Graham! How'd you—"

"Serena. I know you. And I know how you act." She heard him sigh across the line. "Go apologize. He's not me. He doesn't love you as I do."

"I know." She whispered. His voice, especially the tender roll of his "l", was like a caress. Shit. Now she really wanted to cry. "I miss you."

"I miss you."

"When you come back, we're going to spend a whole week in bed. I promise. I'm a mess without you."

"I know you're lying. But thank you. Thank you for saying that. I'll be back soon. A few more days."

"I can't wait. Call me tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"Always."

"Always." He answered. This was how they ended their phone conversations. Always.

It was them. It was their love. It was their friendship.

Always. Always.

Hanging up, she felt better.

Graham always did that.

She felt softer, all her insides and edges, but confident. She knew she had to apologize.

--

He watched her walk toward him, her hair a wild fury behind her. It was almost dark, but her pink sweater glowed. She sat down beside him, holding out a glass of water. He took it and waited for her to elaborate.

"I'm sorry." She said at last and turned to him on the sand. "I've been in a mood lately. I didn't mean to argue with you. Sometimes I just need it. And so I push. And I push. Until I push too hard."

He watched her open the bag and pop a stem in her mouth and then, coyly, nudge one at his lips.

"Come on. You were right." She told him, holding his gaze. Her face was sweet. "I would love to trip…with you. I'm touched. I thought you were done with all of this."

"Well, maybe you changed my mind." He murmured and took the stem, chewed on it thoughtfully. They both grimaced slightly. "Still taste like dirt, I see."

She giggled and handed over two caps. "They're flecked with gold. These look amazing."

He nodded. "They should be. Andrew knew someone who specializes."

When they finished the bag, she pulled two lollipops from her pocket. "Blue Raspberry? Or Sour Apple?"

"Blue."

She handed the lollipop over. They were quiet for a long time, sucking on the candy, until Serena fell back in the sand with a sigh.

"Fuck." She laughed, dragging her arms through the sand. "These are real good."

"Are you tripping?"

"Soon. I feel it. I've got that crazy body high. I'm about to fall."

"The benefits of being a tiny girl." He teased, pushing the glass of water into the sand so he could lie beside her. "I suspect I have another twenty minutes yet until I feel as you do."

"I'll wait for you."

"That's my girl." He grinned and grabbed her hand.

Beneath the darkening sky, they waited, with their limbs floating on an ocean of sand, until the stars began to rain down on them in big gold and silver drops. They felt as if they'd swallowed the moon. And, like the song, she thought dreamily, he fastened her to his side, while she hoped it would be soon.

"Oh, Jupiter." She nibbled and bit and tongued.

He must of caught her reference, because he laughed, opening his mouth for more.


	8. Slip and Slide

Ah, thanks so much for the reviews. And, as hoped, here is the next chapter. :) Also, I found it interesting that none realized Simone and Hannah as Setsuna and Horatu. Anways, please read, enjoy, and review. Much love.

PrincessJade

**Falling is Like This**

O8: Slip and Slide

It was a slippery evening.

The sidewalks were so frozen-over, residents had to be careful where they stepped for fear of falling. Not that there were many out at this time of night, which was often the beauty of living in one of the boroughs. Instead, much of Brooklyn (more than usual) had chosen to stay out of the cold, warmly cocooned in the safety of their homes. Oh, there were a few out and about, but mostly to walk around the corner to the nearest bodega for a quart of milk or a pack of cigarettes.

And none, it seemed, were headed toward Manhattan. Unlike Serena, who left Graham's bundled up in a new black coat and silver scarf, promising to be back tomorrow morning in time to catch their plane.

She was so glad the semester was over. It was a huge relief to know that a month of idleness (so-to-speak) lay ahead of her. These past three weeks had been one hectic blur. Though, finals always seemed to be like that. It had been coffee, adderall, and half an hour naps in-between classes—always a draining experience. And when it was all over, she had gladly slept for days on end, curled between Graham and his Polaroid-covered wall.

In fact, everyone had seemed to be busy recently, even Darien, who had spent much of his time securing some lucrative deal for his company. He hadn't told her much, only that it was big money and his boss was pressuring him to have it done before the end of the year.

Understandably, due to their crazy schedules, she had only seen him a handful of times since their return from Cape May. Though perhaps, she figured, it was for the best. Things between them seemed to getting more and more tangled, especially after their magnificent mushroom trip. They were forever bound by that experience—unforgettable and uniquely theirs—as all psychedelic experiences were.

Well, regardless of how entangled (or not) they were, she was looking forward to seeing him. Besides, she had gotten him a gift, which was her favorite part of Christmas. It always had been. Sure, getting gifts was great and all, but it was the giving that was the most rewarding. The search, the find, the anxious second-thoughts, the reaction—bad or good—she loved it all.

It made her happy.

And as she descended down to catch the subway, making sure to savor one last glimpse of the night sky--light and misty with the promise of snow—she could hardly contain her excitement.

--

Serena breezed in around nine, dusting snow from her hair, and Darien instantly sensed her bright mood. Pulling a blue package from her bag, she greeted him cheerfully, dimples flashing.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. It's super icy in Brooklyn. Everything slowed down. You know how it is." She dropped the package and her purse on the kitchen counter and yanked her boots off. They were sage, tops flipped down to reveal navy stripes. She tossed them carelessly to the side with one hand and unwound her scarf with the other, all the while chattering on about the homeless man she met on the subway.

"Why, aren't you bubbly this evening." He observed, half listening to her story, from his spot on the couch. He was still dressed in slacks and a tie, cuffs rolled at the elbow. "Would you like a drink?"

"Actually, I'm starving. We're leaving tomorrow, so Graham's fridge is pretty bare. Is Andrew around? Maybe we could all go out?"

"No, he's in California with Eli." He watched as she shed her multi-layers onto the floor—black jacket, purple gloves, yellow button-up, teal sweater—and spun her hair up, securing it with a large clip. It was good to see her. Bright clothes and fresh-faced, glimmering like the falling snow. "But we can go out if you like. Or would you rather take out?"

"Whatever. Doesn't matter." She looked at him fondly, sliding toward him with stocking-feet. "But first, I have a gift for you."

"Oh yeah? Well I've a gift for—hey! Careful!" Darien stood suddenly, yanking her to the side. Startled, she dropped his gift onto the carpet. "You're going to trample it!"

"What?!" She looked around in confusion as he bent, scooping up a furry black ball that she had neglected to see. Her eyes widened, first in surprise, then in adoration. "Oh! Darien!"

"Merry Christmas."

"Darien!" She squealed, snatching the kitten from his grasp. "Oh, it's beautiful. It is really for me?"

"She is." He touched the side of her cheek tenderly. "I thought you could use the company at the studio."

"Oh, she's so darling!" She exclaimed, nuzzling the kitten with her nose. It meowed happily, unfazed by its near death experience. "I love her! Thank you. Aw, she's the sweetest thing. What shall I call her?"

"I don't know. Blackie?" He laughed at her wrinkled nose. It was obvious that she thought his name choice poor and unimaginative. He sat back down, pulling her onto his lap, the kitten safely nestled in the crook of her shoulder. It yawned and burrowed closer. "I'm really not that good with names."

"I see that." She lifted the kitten away so she could inspect it. It had honey eyes and a fluff of black fur, though in parts it appeared more blue than black. On its forehead was a golden splotch of color. She tilted her head, thoughtful. "Luna. Lu-na. Sounds distinguished, doesn't it?"

"It does." He murmured, tilting her head back. "Come here."

She laughed, shifting in his lap. Always the tease. "I am here."

"Closer."

"Darien." It was a protest, but a weak one at that. She set Luna down beside them and allowed herself to be wrapped up in his arms. When he kissed her, tongue demanding a response, she felt it shimmer and bloom down to the tip of her spine. He tasted of scotch and cigarettes. A dangerous surprise, like an exacto blade long forgotten at the bottom of her purse. "Wait—your present…"

"It can wait." He pushed her over his arm, her back a graceful arch, and latched on to her wild pulse. "I'm sure it's wonderful."

"But—" She gripped his hair, her equilibrium off-center.

"Shh, my girl. It can wait. I've missed you so." He confessed, sincerely.

She dropped her protests and, instead, helped loosen his tie.

--

"Why'd you become a business man?" She asked him hours later, stretched out on the white sofa, gloriously nude. She settled a container of Chinese on her stomach, popping a piece of broccoli into her mouth. Luna was curled in a ball between her knees.

He laughed, her question catching him by surprise. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged, her shoulder a warm gold in the lamplight. "I don't know. It just seems so boring. Why would anyone go to business school? Is it just for the money?"

"It's not boring. I guess I could see how you'd feel that way about it. But I was always good with numbers. It came easy to me. I'm sure, just as painting comes easy to you."

She nodded, offering him a piece of chicken between her chopsticks. "Okay, fair enough."

"And, yes, I did it partly for the money." He told her, chewing thoughtfully. "But I want to help people. I want to work hard now and make lots of money so I can take care of people later on. I mean, you can donate little things here and there, but what kind of difference are you really making? To make a true difference, one you know is making a difference, you need a lot of money. You need that sort of power. I've always wanted to set up a place for older orphans, you know? A place for the kids that no one wants. I want to show them that someone gives a shit and that they can achieve…what?"

"I—nothing—you just surprised me. That was last thing I would have ever expected to hear. I can't even tease you about that."

"See, I'm not a complete asshole."

"Oh," She giggled, setting her Chinese aside, and dropped onto his lap again. "That's not what I meant. Not at all. I know you aren't like that."

She kissed his hand as proof of her sincerity.

"What about getting married? Are you just going to work hard, retire early, and give all your money to this charity of yours? What about a family of your own?"

"You mean a wife and kids. The white picket fence?"

"Yeah." She played with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Is that something you want?"

"Someday. Yes. It would be nice."

"Have you ever been in love?" She finally asked, because she was honestly curious. Darien didn't seem like a man who fell in love easily, if not at all.

He ran his thumbs along her jaw and then down the side of her neck. "I thought so. Once. But, now, I'm not so sure."

"What happened? Was it Simone?"

He smiled, a boyish look in his eye. "Oh, pet, won't you let that go? I guess I loved Simone. A childish sort of love. But I'm not talking about her. A few years ago, I thought I had been in real love. You know? The kind everyone hopes to find one day. But I think I was in love with an ideal, rather than the actual woman. But enough about me. What about you? Have you ever been in love?"

She swatted at him—half playful, half serious. "Of course. You know I love Graham."

"Well there's a difference between loving someone and being in love."

She hated when he took that all-knowing tone with her.

"Are you in love?"

She scowled. "Madly."

"Then why are you here? And not there?" He challenged, though he regretted it as soon as he said it.

But she didn't rise to the challenge. Instead, she sighed. "I don't want to fight. It's pointless. Come on, I almost forgot, you haven't opened your present."

She got off his lap to retrieve the package, hips swaying. She had a charming back-side. She handed him a card first, a handmade one on a sheet of Bristol. She had painted a snowy owl. When he raised a brow in question, she only shrugged.

"Random. There's no significance. I was in an owl-ish mood."

He opened the card and two pictures fell out. One of his grandparents. The other of him and his parents. His heart stilled. "Where'd you find—"

"In a wardrobe at the beach house. I was putting away our clothes. I…here…you should really open the gift first." She shoved the package at him. It was small and carefully wrapped. She twisted her fingers nervously.

He tore the wrapping paper, revealing a hand-sized box. Inside, there was what appeared to be a silver pocket-watch. "I don't get it."

"Well, I have a friend that makes pocket-watches. It's one of Graham's friends, actually. But it's a locket, kind of. See?" She took the watch from him and pressed a small latch on the side, causing the clock face to pop up and fold out. Inside, there were replica images of his grandparents and parents. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I thought, I don't know, it'd be nice to carry them with you. Do you like it?"

He smiled, mouth warm. His eyes were soft, crushed cobalt, and his hands gentle. "I love it. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She took his offered hand.

"Sleepy?"

"A little."

"Come on. It's kind of cold down here."

Scooping up a slumbering Luna, she let him lead her upstairs to the loft and spread her out across his bed. He kissed her ankles and trembling knees and told her she was a sweet girl. A good girl. His girl.

And when he fucked her, it was much like that first full night they'd spent together—him on top, slow and in control, with her shuddering beneath him. And it was good. Because it was always good. But there was a sweetness there that hadn't been there before.

When she came for the first time, with a wild cry, he held her hands and kissed her glowing face until she was liquid beneath him. Relentless, but in a soft way, their mouths grazing, he brought her up again. A slow ascent. So that the second fall was hazy, like the sky had been, and he couldn't help but join her.

Together, they were like two snowflakes, complexly inter-wound. But it felt too delicate. Too crystallized. Too perfect.

In fact, it felt a lot like making love.


End file.
